


Is It Real? You Believe you're Guiltless?

by JustARobin05



Series: My Trans!Molly (Malachi) Universe! [3]
Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Child Abuse, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Molly is Malachi because Malachi is a boy, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Molly Blyndeff, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustARobin05/pseuds/JustARobin05
Summary: Malachi comes back to the shop to see something that he didn't expect to see: Martin Blyndeff working.-|| Please Read the Notes ||-//Title from: Guiltless by Dodie\\
Relationships: Molly Blyndeff & Fred Donaldson, Molly Blyndeff & Giovanni Potage, Molly Blyndeff & Spike, Spike & Fred Donaldson & Giovanni Potage, Spike & Fred Donaldson & Giovanni Potage & Molly Blyndeff
Series: My Trans!Molly (Malachi) Universe! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685272
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Is It Real? You Believe you're Guiltless?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So, this is a continuation of my fic Carry on My Wayward Son, and my fic Who Are We To Wonder Where We're Going. They're part of the series that this fic is part of. It's not needed to read them, I don't think, although I do suggest it!
> 
> !!This is important, please read!!  
> 1} This is set two years after cannon. Malachi is 14, Giovanni is 21, Spike is also 21, Fred is 20.  
> 2} Spike is called Alex in this.

Malachi’s day had been long and tiresome. 

He hadn’t done much out of the usual, go to school, do work, come home, do work. That was just his life and how it was. A whole lot of work.

He was currently stood outside the shop, (he had to walk home today because Giovanni was sick) trying to will himself to step inside of the building. He’d been staring at the glass doors for a while, trying to get his legs to move, but something was holding him back.

He’d spotted a familiar mop of blond hair sat behind the counter.

Malachi didn’t really know what was going on. Why was Martin working? He didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t even want to talk to the man to find out. That would make a few words leave the man's mouth that Malachi didn’t want to hear, dysphoria alone was enough without people reminding him that he… was born a girl.

That was the thing. Teachers would use the wrong name for him and the wrong pronouns because he looked like a girl. Friends didn’t, not since the day before. Of course, they’d mix it up sometimes but that was the extent of it all. A small mix up, a correction, and an apology. Then the conversation would move on.

Martin didn’t know that it would be wrong to say “Molly” or “she” and Malachi didn’t know if he could handle it if he messed up. Not after the day he had faced (“You’re a girl so act like it,” played back in his mind), not with how tired he was. He rubbed at his eyes before they grew as wide as the moon itself. Martin had spotted him; now he had to go inside.

The palm of his hands against the cold glass felt like a death sentence. As the familiar scent of the shop greeted him (which was made up of dust and a comforting feeling within your chest), Malachi felt nothing but dread. “Heya Molly!” was called out to him and it felt like a metal pipe had been thrown through his heart, “How was your day?”.

Malachi didn’t respond for a second, trying to gain his bearings against the man who simply did not know. “I-It was… uh… it was okay,” he responded dryly, waving towards his father, “You?”

“You doing okay pumpkin? You sound a lil’ down,” maybe it was the fact that his father was actually working for once, maybe it was the miss-gendering, maybe it was the pain that Malachi’s day came with. Even if he wanted to say something he couldn’t. God, he wished that Giovanni hadn’t been sick. It just had to be this day that he was.

“I-I’m fine,” the response sounded dull and empty and just too feminine, he flinched at his own voice. He tried to walk behind the counter, towards his room where he could just let out what he was feeling, although an arm reaching out and catching him was all that was needed to stop him.

“It sure doesn’t look like it,” he said, “Why don’t I close up shop and we have a good chat? Like the old times,” what he really meant was before Malachi’s mother had died, although neither of them wanted to say that.

“N-no, really, I’m fine,”

“Molly,” there it was again, the sinking feeling in his chest, “Please? Do it for me?”

Malachi had heard those words more than once, everything always had to be for that man. He wanted to say no but now he was being forced into the interaction through, what the young boy knew to be, guilt-tripping. 

“O-okay,”

“Good, good!” the man walked out from behind the counter, walking up to the door and flipping over the all so telling “Open” sign, showing that the shop was now closed. “Come on then Molly, to the kitchen!” once again, that feeling.

It hurt. It shouldn’t, really, it shouldn’t hurt to hear a name or a pronoun, but it did. It didn’t matter if something shouldn’t happen, Malachi found himself thinking, it was going to happen anyway. That went for a lot of things.

It wasn’t long until the two were in the kitchen located above the shop, in their home. Although more and more nowadays Malachi considered Giovanni’s house home, not here. Not in a place where his mother had died, where he’d been thrown to the side by his remaining family, where no one could be for longer than five seconds; where he was still Molly. Now, the place where he had to sleep at night, felt like nothing more than a foreign land that where he wasn’t welcome.

“Two sugars, right? Your old man can never remember,” Martin said, placing the kettle that they owned on the under-used oven top.

“Yeah,” Malachi said, smoothing his hands over the new jeans that Giovanni had gotten him. They were stripey and looked maybe a little feminine, but he liked them. As Giovanni had said, clothes aren’t bound by gender. If Malachi really wanted he could still wear his old skirts and be a boy, not that he did, however, or could; he’d thrown those skirts out just last week. 

He looked up in time to hear the kettle whistle, his father humming a familiar tune that Malachi couldn’t quite name as he filled two mugs with the hot water, effectively making the two tea. He then put the mugs on the kitchen table, sitting across the boy, holding his own mug in hand. 

After a heavy moment of silence, Martin spoke. “Look, Molly,” Malachi couldn’t help flinching at the name, of which he was sure his father noticed, “I know I haven't been the best these past years, but just… I’m trying, now, okay?”

Malachi stared blankly for a second. Why now? What had changed? What was going on? He kept his mouth shut and nodded. He didn’t know what would happen if he asked and, quite frankly, he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’ve signed myself up for therapy,” Malachi’s eyes grew wide, “I think it’ll do me some good,”

“With who?” was the first question to flee his mouth that day. He knew that it was unlikely but he didn’t want the answer to be his friend, Sylvie.

“Someone called Dr. Avery,” Malachi let out a small sigh of relief, “They’re known to be very good, so I thought, why not? You know?”

“Y-yeah,” Malachi didn’t really know, but he had a few conversations with Sylvie and knew how it felt to be in therapy by now.

“I’m happy you understand,” the man sipped at his tea, “But uh… there’s something else too,” anxiety came to the front of Malachi’s mind as he started to wonder what the ‘something else’ could be. “… I’ve noticed that you’ve… changed,”

Malachi’s throat closed up in response to his words, “W-what do you mean?”.

“Well,” the man gestured towards the boy as though it made his point, “You’re… less… you,”.

That was really what was said. Malachi had to double-check his memory to make sure it was true, as it seemed so impossible to him. The boy had felt more himself than he had since he was a child, although then it hit him; he was less… “Molly”, he was less how Martin saw him. He was himself, the him that had been repressed for many years now, but Martin never got to know him.

“I-I don’t really think so,” were the first words Malachi had spoken that had rivalled Martin in a while, “If anything… I think I’m more… me,”

“Are you sure?” the man replied, in a tone that screamed ‘I’m older than you, therefore I’m better than you’, Malachi nodded. He wasn’t exactly prepared for the response, “I’m sure it’s just a phase, Molly,”

Now, when Malachi said that he wasn’t ready for those words, he meant it. Martin didn’t know what he was talking about, in more ways than one, he wasn’t right. This wasn’t a phase. Malachi was Malachi and Martin would have to accept that.

The boy stood up, his arms slamming onto the surface of the table, startling the blond sat across from him. “It’s not!” he sounded too much like Sylvie, “I-I’m not Molly, okay? I’m not! Stop saying it! P-please...” tears were falling from his eyes by then. Hearing himself say the name seemed to trigger it. 

“What?” Martin stared at the boy, dumbfounded, “Molly, what do you mean?”

“I’M MALACHI!” he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, “I’m not Molly, I’m Malachi, I’m a boy,”

A heavy pause hung between the two as Malachi stood there with tears falling from his eyes. When he finally looked up, he saw his fathers face. All it showed was a blank stare. 

“You don’t know that,” he said, “No, no, you’re Molly,” it sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, more tears fell from his eyes as Martin stood up, “Stop crying,” Malachi didn’t dare voice the impossibility of that, instead trying to stop the tears, “Come on,” he grabbed onto one of the younger boys arms just a little too roughly, “You’re going to your room, to think,”

“A-about what?” Martin’s grip tightened.

“About what you said,”

“I-I was telling the truth!”

“It’s just a phase,”

“It’s not!” he was then jerkily shoved into the room that should have been his, “Please, it’s not- Please!” his voice had grown hoarse from all the shouting he’d been doing, Martin stalked up to him.

Malachi’s stomach plummeted straight towards the ground as the man did what he did next. He didn’t expect it. He should’ve. He shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he was wrong, despite the facts, he couldn’t help but think that.

Martin’s hand struck his cheek.

In the blink of an eye, his bedroom door had been slammed in front of him. Despite him already sobbing, tears flowed with much more purpose this time. The sounds of his crying were loud as they echoed around his small room, it sounded as though he was crying out. For help? For someone to be there? He didn’t know. It was one of those, he thought, sniffling as he sat himself back up. His hand went into the pocket of his bear-hoodie, feeling for his phone. He let a small smile come onto his still crying face as he felt it. This was it. This was his ticket for help.

He founds Giovanni’s contact quickly, as he was the last person that Malachi had called, and pressed on it as soon as he could. He shakily pressed the phone to his ear as a sentence played throughout his head.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up-

“Bear Trap?” he heard, Giovanni sounded a little better than to morning, still a little nasally and tried. “Malachi are you crying!?” he then heard murmuring from Giovanni’s microphone, murmuring that belonged to other people.

“H-Hey boss,” Malachi sniffled, “I-I need some h-help,” 

He heard shuffling on the other side of the phone, “Can I put you on speaker? Alex and Fred are here,”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay,”

“Hey, Malachi?” Alex said, he heard shuffling, “What’s going on?”

“U-uh… my dad wanted to talk to me,” he brought his knees up to his chest, cringing when he felt his breasts there, “A-and, uh...” more sobs flew from his mouth, “I-I told him,”

He heard a few gasps from the other side, “What happened?” Fred asked.

“H-he...” Malachi gulped, and in a very, very, tiny voice, let out the following words. “My cheek hurts,”

“No,” Giovanni said, his anger clear through his sickness.

“Malachi, do you know how to climb out of windows?” Alex asked, Malachi heard a bed creaking.

“U-uh… yeah,”

“Okay, we’re gonna be there, we just need you to be outside by the time we get there,”

Despite the mass of questions stacking up in his mind (How were they going to get there? How long were they going to be? Who exactly was going to get him?), only one word left him in that moment. 

“Okay,”

After a few goodbyes, Malachi looked to his bedroom window. There was the dilemma, he didn’t really have experience in climbing out of windows, despite what he had said. He didn’t know what the common courtesy of doing so was, if he should roll when he hit the ground or not. Or maybe he should really climb like a spider upon the flat surface. He quickly reminded himself that he was not a spider, nor was he Peter Parker, and doing so was impossible.

By the time he stood up his sobs had become quiet sniffles, we wiped at his eyes and then his nose, before walking over to the window. Should he get some clothes? He pushed the glass outwards, allowing him to go out if needed. Should he cushion the area bellow to soften his fall? He pushed himself up, sitting with his legs out in the cold. He swung his legs for a second, the deafening sounds of the wind and his own sniffling surrounding him. 

Malachi spotted a pipe just in arms reach to the right of him, away from the street. He was scared. He was terrified that he would fall and hurt himself more than he thought possible, but he reached out for it. It was either fall and suffer the consequences, or stay and do the same. 

His weight swayed from the windowsill and onto the plastic pipe, he slowly found himself coming closer towards the ground. Adrenalin shot through his veins as every inch downwards meant freedom, ever small movement and… his feet connected with concrete. 

A smile came to his face as he sprinted towards the street. He knew that he would have to wait a while, but Giovanni was going to be there, Alex and Fred, too. They were there for him.

It wasn’t long until he saw the familiar car being driven by a familiar woman, Giovanni and Fred sat in the back. He ran up to it as it slowly came to park, a relieved smile plastered across his face. Alex opened the passenger door next to her, Malachi getting in as fast as he could and closing the door the same. Alex ruffled his hair as Giovanni let out a determined, albeit tired, “Seatbelt,”.

“You came,” Malachi said, with a touch of disbelief. It wasn’t that he doubted these wonderful people, it was that he didn’t know if he deserved them.

“Of course Bear Trap!” Fred let out, “We’re here for you, okay buddy?”

“Yeah,” tears sprung to his eyes as Alex pulled away from the parking space, “You… you are,”

He looked into the front window of the shop to see Martin looking back in disbelief. Malachi sent him a look that was easy to read, even if you didn’t know the boy, you’d know what that look meant.

You messed up. 

You messed up and he wasn’t happy, and by the look on Fred and Giovanni’s faces, Malachi was sure the blond got the message.

“So, you wanna play the Sims when we get back?” Giovanni asked, sniffling from his cold, and not from sadness.

“Oh, yeah! Me and Alex had this idea...” Fred said, and Malachi happily listened as his friend rattled of his plan to make the blasters and boss within the game.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
